


to live happily ever after (a tale of sparks and wolves)

by thedaughterofkings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fluff and Angst, Full Shift Werewolves, M/M, Prince Derek, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 09:23:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12230076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedaughterofkings/pseuds/thedaughterofkings
Summary: When Stiles and Scott have to flee from Kate Argent, Stiles never expects for his brother to turn into a wolf or for them to meet a prince.But Derek Hale might just turn his life into a fairy tale.If only Kate Argent left them alone.





	to live happily ever after (a tale of sparks and wolves)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the September Theme of the Sterek Writing Room: Fairy Tales!
> 
> It's based on one of my favourite fairy tales, "Brüderchen und Schwesterchen" or ["Brother and Sister"](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brother_and_Sister), though here it's two brothers and a prince!
> 
> Much thanks to the wonderful [Krista](http://daydreams-and-memories.tumblr.com/), who beta-read this in record time (because I was cutting it very close to the deadline!) and my dearest [Larissa](http://ohfuckthisshit.tumblr.com), who let me ramble at her endlessly when I first decided to write this fic and helped me figure out how to turn the fairy tale into a fic!
> 
> So without further ado: Once upon a time ....

“Run, Scott, run!” Stiles shouts, trying to keep one eye on the path before him and one eye on the path behind him, to make sure that no one is following them. Scott is stumbling through the forest in front of him, his harsh breaths loud even over the pounding in Stiles’ ears, a stark reminder that while they  _ have _ to run, running is the one thing they - or Scott rather - cannot do. At least not for much longer. But running is their only chance - running until they are out of Kate Argent’s dominion.

 

Because Scott? Had to fall in love with Kate Argent’s niece. And while Allison is indeed very lovable, and also very pretty, and  _ definitely _ very scary when she wants to be, her aunt is an evil witch. Literally. Unfortunately they haven’t known that very long. Kate Argent is very good at making herself seem like the hero of the tale, not the villain.

 

She took Scott and Stiles in when their parents died, gave them a place to sleep, food to eat, work to do. It all seemed very selfless, like she’d done it just out of the good of her heart, but in the few years of living in her household, Stiles has learned to see through her. The Argents don’t quite live in a castle, but a large estate like theirs needs many helping hands nevertheless. Scott had quickly found a place assisting Deaton, the master huntsman, but Stiles had done a lot of little chores for various servants, being shuffled from office to office, often sent off with a metaphorical boot to the butt. Occasionally it wasn’t metaphorical, unfortunately. 

 

But in the end he’d ended up under Deaton’s wing as well, though not working with animals like Scott. Deaton taught Stiles  _ magic _ . Wards, and spells, and herbs, and creatures. How to cure sickness and how to call death down on someone. Not that Deaton had Stiles kill anyone, but he believed in a comprehensive education. Which is also why Stiles recognises the spell that Kate must have put upon her land. 

 

Scott has been wheezing for ages now, and all of Deaton’s teachings didn’t include the one spell Stiles wanted to learn - how to heal Scott. So all he can do to try to help, feeling like the biggest charlatan in the land, is crouch down to scoop some water from the river for Scott. But when he leans over the river, a faint voice whispers in the ripples:

 

“Do not drink from me, for I will transform you into a beast of fire, with wings to darken the earth, and flames to scorch the land.”

 

Stiles jerks backwards and would have fallen, if not for Scott’s steadying hands.

 

“What is it?” Scott wheezes and for a moment Stiles is tempted not to tell him, to just let him drink, in the desperate hope that it was just a trick of his mind and that nothing will happen, because Scott desperately needs some water. But he’d never been able to lie to Scott - bend the truth, sure, feed him a few white lies, no problem, but a bald-faced lie? No way - so he says: “Kate must have enchanted the water. If you drink from it, you will turn into a dragon.”

 

He almost expects Scott to say “oh, cool” and take a sip, but Scott just heaves in another uncomfortable breath of air and says: “We’ll have to keep going then.” And with that he turns around and keeps walking further into the forest, obviously expecting Stiles to follow him. 

 

Stiles considers arguing some more, but it’s not as if he  _ wants _ Scott to turn into a dragon and as long as Scott thinks he can keep going, they’ll keep going. And if Stiles remembers Deaton’s lesson correctly, the spell will lose power the farther away they get from its place of origin, until it peters out completely. Stiles simply doesn’t know what power Kate wields, how far her influence will reach. And given Scott’s state, he isn’t sure how much farther they can go without water.

 

So from then on Stiles tests every body of water they come across, but Kate’s long arm still reaches them even after hours of travelling through the forest. No two rivers are the same, sometimes the spell threatens to transform Scott into a bear, then a snake of unbelievable size, or an ogre “reeking of the death and destruction it brings”. 

 

Slowly though the monsters become less monstrous, to the point where Stiles starts begging Scott to drink because Scott is getting paler and paler. Each step he takes is slower than the one before and if something doesn’t happen very soon, they’ll die in this forest either way. If Stiles is going to die, he’d rather do it in the knowledge that Scott is going to survive a bit longer than knowing that they have both died of thirst. 

 

But Scott remains stubborn, refusing to drink even from the little stream that promises to turn him into a unicorn, which Stiles thinks doesn’t sound like the worst deal. Scott shuts him down with a pointed: “It says my ‘horn will be dripping with blood’, that doesn’t sound like the fluffy unicorn variety, and  _ no _ , Stiles, I don’t think you being a virgin is going to help you any here, so let’s keep going. I don’t need any water yet anyways.”

 

The last one is a bald-faced lie and it’s obvious to both of them, but Stiles doesn’t fancy being skewered, so he stops arguing. Worse than imagining himself being skewered are the visions of Scott being hunted down for his horn and hooves and coat, chased by arrows and fire and spells. Stiles shudders and silently resolves that, if they can’t find clean water, he’ll at least make sure that whatever form Scott turns into can defend itself properly. 

 

So when Scott’s condition gets so bad that they have to take breaks every few steps so he can try to catch his breath, and Stiles finds another river, calm on the surface, but rushing quickly along underneath, tugging on Stiles’ hand when he submerges it, he closes his eyes and wishes with all his might for a transformation that will be helpful, that will be good for Scott. Deaton has always said that the strength of his conviction, his belief is what truly powers his spells, and Stiles just has to hope that while he doesn’t have the power or knowledge to end Kate’s enchantment entirely, they are far enough away by now that he can at least shape it a little to his will. When he opens his eyes, the river starts murmuring, a sound like pebbles knocking against each other in the river bed, dancing with the currents: 

 

“If you drink from me, you will be turned into a wolf, quick enough to chase down your enemies, powerful enough to rip out their throats with your teeth, with claws to pin them down and howl to drive fear into their hearts. But your mind will not be your own, coloured red by a wolf’s instincts.”

 

Scott is already shaking his head ‘no’, but Stiles grabs his arm in excitement. 

 

“This is the one, Scott! I know what we’re dealing with here, and I’m sure we can manage this transformation! It’ll turn you into a werewolf, a wolf in body, but a man in mind, not a mindless animal like with the other transformations.”

 

“But didn’t you hear what it said?” Scott asks. “‘Your mind will not be your own’ and then something about instincts and blood! What’s the point if I’m still going to kill you?”

 

“Oh pff,” Stiles scoffs, “that’s a load of anti-wolf drivel if I’ve ever heard any. ‘Coloured red by a wolf’s instincts’, my ass. A wolf’s first and foremost instinct isn’t to attack and kill; it’s to protect the pack and if we’re not pack, then I don’t know what we’re even doing here, Scott. We’re going to be fine; I’m going to be fine;  _ you _ ’re going to be fine. Trust me, Scott. This is our best chance, our only chance. You can’t keep going like this and I’m certainly not going to leave you behind. Please, drink.”

 

Scott stares at him intently, as if trying to read Stiles’ mind, and Stiles tries to look as confident as possible, and not as terrified as he really is. 

 

“You’re sure about this?” Scott asks and Stiles nods.

 

“I’m completely sure. This will work out, trust me.” And he is sure - sure at least that this is their best chance. Controlling a dragon or a blood-thirsty unicorn? No way. But Stiles has actually studied werewolves; he knows which herbs hurt them, which keep them away. Not that he has any of those with him and ready, but he knows how to get them. Eventually. He totally knows how he’ll defend himself if Scott loses control. If he had the means to defend himself. Yeah. It’ll all be fine. Probably.

 

Scott’s squinty-eyed stare intensifies for a moment, as if he can hear Stiles’ thoughts and is seriously second guessing this, but then he nods decisively and kneels down next to the river. With cupped hands he carefully scoops out some water and sips slowly. For a moment nothing seems to happen, but then Scott throws his head back and lets out a scream that makes Stiles at once want to scramble backwards and to dart towards him, to help him. Then Scott’s back bows and the scream becomes a howl as Scott’s clothes rip at the seams, brown fur quickly covering all of the newly revealed skin. Distantly, Stiles thinks that they should have thought to have Scott take off his clothes before drinking. They didn’t really have time to pack anything before running and Stiles could have used a spare set of clothes. Oh well, hindsight is easier than foresight. 

 

The transformation seems to take ages, but then Stiles blinks and suddenly a panting wolf stands before him. Hesitantly, he stretches out a hand, no longer even able to fake the confidence he showed Scott earlier.

 

“Scott? Scotty, is that you?” he asks, muscles tensed in preparation, in case he needs to jump back quickly. But the wolf,  _ Scott _ , just steps forward and butts Stiles’ hand with his head, his wet nose sliding along Stiles’ palm, and if Stiles’ gasp of relief sounds more like sob then no one but Scott is there to hear it. And Scott isn’t going to tell on Stiles. Certainly not in his current form. That sobering thought brings Stiles back on track and he asks:

 

“Scott, can you understand me? One paw tap for yes, two for no.”

 

Scott does tap ‘yes’ with his paw, only he doesn’t tap the forest floor like Stiles expected, but Stiles, who sways backwards from the force and almost topples over.

 

“Oh har har, very funny. I’m no scratching post, wolfy, get rid out of that idea right now. So let’s try again: Feeling any hunger for my flesh and blood? A little desire to maim and kill me?”

 

Scott’s two thumps are very empathetic and even through the thick fur Stiles can see him trembling.

 

“Sorry, I had to check,” Stiles apologises somewhat insincerely. They are talking about his maiming and killing after all, so he had to check. “Now, any urge to go after a juicy squirrel or two?” This time Scott’s two taps come more hesitantly, so Stiles files his answer away as ‘Probably yes, but too embarrassed to admit it’. Okay, now what did Deaton tell him about werewolves again that he can check with Scott like this? Scent is probably going to be easiest, Stiles decides and asks: “Has your sense of smell gotten better?” Scott’s single tap confirms his suspicions and Stiles quickly explains: “Your nose is probably at least ten times as good now than it was before and with some training you should be able to tell apart not just different scents, but also emotions emmitting from people. Now, the same should be true for sight and hearing, are those better, too?” Scott both taps his paw and nods his head, the first purely human motion he has made so far, which fills Stiles with further hope that Scott’s human mind isn’t going to be lost to the animal instincts of the wolf too quickly. 

 

Now, the question he’s been pushing off, because he’s been dreading the answer. If Stiles is being honest, this is the main reason why he pushed Scott to drink from this particular river. It wasn’t just a case of ‘better the devil you know’, but something else Deaton told Stiles about werewolves. Part of the magic that allows them to transform and gives them additional strengths also gives them super powers of healing. If all went according to plan then the transformation will also have taken care of Scott’s breathing issues and Stiles will have been right in pushing him to drink from that river. But if it didn’t help, Stiles won’t be able to shut down the little voice in his head, sounding scarily like Kate, telling him that he should have kept going, that he had forced upon his brother a fate worse than death, that he had turned him into an  _ animal _ . Taking a deep breath, Stiles tries his best to shove those thoughts aside and asks, voice carefully calm: “How is your breathing, Scott? Is it easier to get enough air now?”

 

Scott’s head tilts to the side in question, as if he’s only just noticing himself, and then he suddenly starts running. Stiles almost has a heart attack before he realises that Scott is just running in circles around him, putting in quick bursts of additional speed at random intervals, with no sign of effort. When he finally stops running, he doesn’t sit down in front of Stiles again, but tackles him to the ground, slobbering all across Stiles’ face, despite his loud shrieks and attempts to shield himself with his hands. Eventually Scott lets up, flopping down across Stiles’ legs, looking decidedly pleased with himself if Stiles is reading his canine face correctly. 

 

Stiles wipes his sleeve across his face to get rid of Scott’s slobber and laughs, relief pounding through him: 

 

“I’ll take that as a yes, shall I?”

 

~*~

 

Scott finds them an abandoned little hut once they are out of Kate’s territory. The first few nights there they sleep huddled together in a corner, Stiles very grateful for Scott’s higher body temperature and soft fur. Slowly though he cleans it up, first fixing the roof, then building a small fireplace, one by one turning the hut into a place for them to live. Scott hunts all kinds of game for them, for the meat and the furs, which pad out their sleeping corner. There’s a small stream running behind the hut, providing them with fresh water to drink and wash with, but Stiles only lets Scott go into it once he’s completely and totally sure that no enchantment has been laid on it. 

 

Over the summer they live pretty comfortably given the circumstances, but when the leaves start changing colours and the winds blow chilly from the north, Stiles starts worrying about winter. Their hut is not suited to protect them from ice and snow, and it is doubtful whether Scott will be able to catch enough food for them with all of nature asleep. Stiles could leave the forest of course, but he has no gold to exchange for food or shelter, and no skills to offer. His magic might be one, but his studies with Deaton probably haven’t gone beyond the knowledge of every hedgewitch, and either way, he’s not sure where they are. There’s no telling how people would react to magic in the next town or village.

 

Most of all, Stiles doesn’t want to leave Scott alone. They’ve spent the summer testing out Scott’s new form and powers to the best of their abilities, but Stiles is still not ready to abandon Scott. What if someone stumbles upon him while Stiles is not there to explain things, and, thinking he’s a real wolf, kills him? Or what if Scott’s control depends on being close to his pack, that is Stiles, and with Stiles too far away, his control slips and he becomes feral? There’s just too many what if’s for Stiles’ taste. But the problem remains: what are they going to do come winter?

 

A chance encounter answers that question in completely unexpected ways.

 

One day when Scott is out hunting for food, the sound of horns echoes through the forest, followed by dogs barking and the clip-clap of horses chasing something between the trees. Stiles steps out of their hut, heart in his throat, eyes scanning the shades under the trees desperately for any sign of Scott, but he can’t see anything but quickly moving shadows too far away to tell any of them apart. The hunting horns bellow from all sides, making Stiles feel surrounded, trapped. 

 

The sound of something big breaking through the undergrowth right in front of the hut makes him jerk back in fear, but it’s just Scott, panting in great, deep breaths. Stiles’ relief is short-lived, though, because Scott only makes it as far as the middle of the clearing between them before he crumbles to the ground with a whine of pain that breaks Stiles’ heart. Three big steps take him to Scott, just in time for a great horse to break through the undergrowth in Scott’s wake, its rider holding a bow, the arrow directed at Scott.

 

“Get away from it,” he warns, and Stiles throws himself across Scott with a shout, trying to cover as much of him with his body as he can. But his actions just make Scott yowl and Stiles jerks back up again, worried that he has caused Scott more instead of less pain, like he intended. Finally taking a closer look, he can see what made Scott stumble and fall earlier and cry out in pain: an arrow stuck in his left hind leg. 

 

Stiles cups his hands carefully around the arrow, unsure whether he should try pulling it out or leave it in for now, and glares up at the mysterious rider: “You hurt him!”

 

To his surprise, the stranger looks almost guilty, ducking his head as if to hide his expression from Stiles, before directing an almost pleading look at Stiles: “I had to! I have to protect my people!”

 

“From  _ Scott _ ?” Stiles asks incredulously, barking out a laugh because that thought is just too ridiculous to even entertain. Scott is just a fluffy puppy - literally now. 

 

“So you do know him?” the rider asks and Stiles scoffs.

 

“Of course I know him; it’s Scott! The one I don’t know is you!”

 

A blush spreads across the stranger’s cheeks and he finally dismounts, leading his horse over to Scott and Stiles. While it means that Stiles no longer gets such a crick in his neck, it also fills him with a slight unease, not sure whether he needs to throw himself across Scott again in a moment. But when the stranger kneels down next to him, Stiles has to throw himself across Scott for a completely different reason than Stiles thought because Scott growls low in his throat. Stiles startles, because that is a noise he hadn’t heard from Scott yet, but the stranger doesn’t look surprised. 

 

“See?” he says. “He is feral, dangerous, and I can’t just let him run free.” Belatedly he adds: “My name is Derek. Can you tell me yours?”

 

Stiles glares at the insinuation that he is some kind of imbecile who doesn’t know his own name, but grudgingly says: “I’m Stiles. And that is Scott and he’s  _ not _ feral. And anyway, how would  _ you _ know?”

 

Derek lowers his chin and when he looks back up at Stiles his eyes are glowing bright blue.

 

Stiles jerks backwards and Scott’s growls ramp up until Derek turns his glowing eyes on him and Scott suddenly falls silent.

 

“You are a werewolf!” Stiles exclaims, caught between fear and excitement at meeting a real, true werewolf. Scott was enchanted, not bitten or born, and is stuck in his wolf form anyway, so he doesn’t really count.

 

“Yes, I am,” Derek nods, adding: “and that’s why I know what I am talking about. If your friend, if  _ Scott _ is not able to control his shift and is running freely through our woods, then he’s feral and a danger to my people and I can’t allow that.”

 

Stiles rolls his eyes and insists: “But see, you  _ don’t _ know what you are talking about, and that’s why you’re wrong about him! Scott was neither bitten nor born, he was enchanted, cursed! That’s why he can’t change back! But he’s completely in control of himself and not a danger to anyone!” Mumbling under his breath, he adds: “I think,” because they haven’t really had any chance to test Scott’s control against people other than Stiles, and Scott growling at Derek isn’t really a good sign. But then Derek shot Scott in the leg, so Stiles thinks a little growling is understandable and acceptable. Though that reminds him:

 

“You shot him! You knew he was human inside, but you shot him! Were you trying to kill him?!”

 

Derek pales and shakes his head in denial, looking faintly sick at the thought.

 

“No! I just wanted to catch him, to bring him to my mother. She’s the Alpha, and usually able to bring feral werewolves back under control. But what do you mean, he was enchanted?”

 

“Your mother is an Alpha?” Stiles asks back, ignoring Derek’s question, too excited by the prospect of finding help for Scott. “Do you think she could help Scott, too? Alpha him back to human or something?”

 

“I don’t know,” Derek admits, looking slightly embarrassed. “I’m sure she’d try, but I’ve never heard of enchanted werewolves, so I don’t know if her powers would extend to him. Really though, how did he get enchanted?”

 

“Can you bring us to her?” Stiles pleads, willing to forget his pride for Scott. “Please, you are our only hope.”

 

Derek looks as if he wants to ask more questions, or even just repeat the one question he keeps asking and Stiles keeps ignoring because he doesn’t want to get into Kate and Allison Argent and that entire mess just yet, but instead Derek just nods and says: “We have to get the arrow out of his leg first, though. It’s probably best if you ride with me and Scott runs along once he’s healed,  _ as long as he promises not to run away _ .”

 

Stiles can’t help grumbling under his breath: “He wouldn’t even be hurt, if it wasn’t for you,” before adding more loudly: “Scott isn’t dumb and he wouldn’t leave me anyways, so you can just stop that already. Now help me get that arrow out that  _ you _ hit him with.”

 

The sound Derek makes in answer to Stiles’ comments is more animalistic than human, and decidedly grumpy, but he does hold Scott’s hind leg still, while Stiles carefully pulls out the arrow, trying to ignore Scott’s pained whine. Derek keeps holding on a little longer than strictly necessary, and Stiles can see faint black lines along his wrists disappearing up his sleeves. It sparks a faint memory of Deaton’s teachings including something about werewolves being able to take away pain, and indeed Scott’s whines are quieting down, as if he’s no longer in as much pain as before. Stiles absentmindedly wonders whether Scott is able to do the same thing, even in his current form, but then he sees Scott’s skin knitting itself back together where it had been pierced by the arrow and that drives all other thoughts from his mind. He’d known about the self healing powers of werewolves, but there hadn’t been any opportunity to observe it himself so far. They’d been careful, so Scott hadn’t been hurt since his transformation, and while Stiles had done his best to test out the limits of Scott’s other abilities, he hadn’t been ready to hurt Scott, just to check how far his self healing powers extended. 

 

Scott’s whines finally subside entirely and the only outward sign of his wound is the blood matting down his fur, so when Derek lets go of him and Scott scrambles up into a more upright position, Stiles leans forward and asks: “You alright, buddy? Do you think you can run? Keep up with a horse?” He’s ready to make Derek wait as long as it takes if Scott shows any signs of needing more time to recover, but Scott just shakes himself vigorously before yipping in agreement and licking a wet stripe across Stiles’ cheek. Stiles laughs and uses his sleeve to wipe away Scott’s slobber, taking the opportunity to also get rid of the tears that have sprung up at the relief of knowing that Scott’s fine. He scratches behind Scott’s ears once and then stands up resolutely, saying:

 

“Okay, we’re ready, we can go.”

 

Derek also stands up, looking back and forth between Stiles and Scott and, then looking over Stiles’ shoulder, asks:

 

“Is there nothing you want to pack? To take with you? I don’t know when or even if you’ll be able to return here.”

 

Stiles turns to look back at the place that has offered them shelter for more than a season and still doesn’t hold more than a couple of mangy furs and resolutely turns his back on it, shaking his head: 

 

“No, there’s nothing of worth or value here.”

 

He holds his head high and refuses to feel shame at the look of dismay and pity that Derek directs at them. They survived, and that’s worth much more than all the jewels in the world. 

 

Thankfully Derek doesn’t comment, just holds out a hand to help Stiles up on his horse before swinging himself up behind him. His body presses against Stiles from hips to shoulders and the heat seeps through the worn clothes on Stiles’ back, making every part of his body that Derek doesn’t touch feel that much colder. He barely suppresses a shiver and distracts himself by making sure that Scott is sticking close to them, but not too close to the hooves of the remarkably unfazed horse. But then it’s carrying a werewolf on its back, so having a wolf run along beside it probably doesn’t make much of a difference. Scott seems to be fine, loping along next to them, not sign of a limp as far as Stiles can tell. 

 

On horseback it doesn’t take them long to make it out of the forest and into inhabited territory, small farms between rolling fields, people stopping to stare at them and - to Stiles’ surprise - bow down when they get closer to them. No one seems to be particularly fazed by the wolf running freely alongside the horse, in fact, Stiles has a feeling that most of the stares are directed at him and it makes him duck his head self-consciously. The dog herding a flock of sheep reminds him of the barks echoing through the forest earlier and how there must have been more riders alongside Derek chasing down Scott. A hot pulse of anger shoots through him at the thought, and his question comes out a little more harsh than he’d originally intended: “Where did all your hunter friends end up by the way? Did you just leave them running around in the forest?”

 

Derek jerks behind him and sounds so affronted that Stiles wishes he could see his face, sure that it’d be hilarious: “We are not  _ hunters _ !”

 

Stiles mutters: “Could have fooled me,” under his breath, still smarting over the arrow in Scott’s hind leg, but Derek continues as if he hadn’t said anything: “They took off as soon as they knew I had him. No sense in overwhelming him unnecessarily.”

 

“But how did they know that -” Stiles starts, before the realisation suddenly dawns on him. “Oh, right, werewolf hearing, didn’t think of that.” But what he is thinking of now is how that means that who knows how many strangers overheard his first conversation with Derek, and for some reason that doesn’t sit right with him. 

 

Derek somehow seems to guess what he’s thinking about because he adds, voice quieter than before: “They left after my arrow had hit Scott, knowing I could catch him on my own now, and that I’d take care of him. They’ve probably been back for a while now.”

 

“Oh,” Stiles says intelligently, feeling relief that doesn’t make more sense than the disappointment, embarrassment that filled him earlier. “That’s good? But where is “back” exactly? Where are we going? And really,  _ who are you _ ?” Because they’ve been riding through what seemed to be just a small village at first, but turned out to be a proper town, with cobbled streets and timber framework and even the occasional stained glass window, and the throng of people surrounding them and slowing down their progress makes it all the more obvious how  _ every single one of them _ stops to bow at least slightly towards Derek.

 

“Well,” Derek starts hesitantly, sounding embarrassed for some reason Stiles can’t comprehend, “we are going to see my mother. She’s the Alpha, and also the Queen. And that makes me, well, a prince.”

 

With that they round another corner and suddenly Stiles sees where they are going: a castle, looming large and great before them, making Stiles wonder why he didn’t see it before. The castle where apparently Derek lives, because he’s a prince.

 

Oh.

 

~*~

 

The Alpha, Queen Talia, listens to their story unmovingly, her face a friendly, but carefully blank mask. Once Stiles is done recounting their struggles, she gets up without a word and kneels down in front of Scott. Scott squirms slightly, as if he wants to look away but doesn’t dare to, and Stiles takes a step towards them before his mind catches up with what his body is doing. Getting between two werewolves probably isn’t a good idea. Derek seems to agree because his arm shoots out and grabs Stiles, pulling him backwards until he’s caught in a rather restrictive embrace, but an embrace nevertheless. Stiles doesn’t get a chance to fully grasp that development before Talia flashes her eyes at Scott, and for the first time since his transformation, Scott’s eyes change colour as well, bright yellow staring back into fiery red. So far, so good, Scott - or his wolf - seems to react to Talia’s Alpha Power. But then she throws her head back and howls, a commanding sound that makes Derek twitch behind Stiles, as if he wants to join his voice to hers, and honestly, Stiles is impressed at Derek’s control, because  _ he _ almost wants to howl along with Talia, and he’s not part of her pack, never mind a wolf. Scott however just ducks low and whines, his fear and pain evident.

 

That is too much for Stiles and he breaks free of Derek’s slackened hold and throws himself in front of Scott.

 

“Stop it! Why are you hurting him? I thought you were going to help us!”

 

Talia finally stops howling and to Stiles’ surprise she doesn’t look angry, or haughty, or mocking, like he’d learned to expect from Kate, but sad.

 

“I am sorry, Stiles, Scott. I did not intend to cause any harm; I only tried to help, like my son promised, but it seems the enchantment is too strong and cannot simply be broken by an Alpha’s command. I do not know what would break the enchantment and can thus offer you no more advice in this matter at this moment, though I’ll consult the books in our library and our emissary, if that is your wish. The only thing I can offer you is a place to stay and to try to train you, in the hopes that perhaps one day you’ll break the enchantment yourself. You do not need to decide this moment, take some time to think it through. Derek will show you where you can stay the night. I hope to see you both at dinner.”

 

Not giving Stiles a chance to close his gaping mouth and formulate a response, she inclines her head at them and then gets up and leaves the room, stopping only to direct a few quiet words at Derek, who nods in acquiescence to whatever she’s requesting of him. With a few quick steps he crosses the distance between them and offers a hand to help Stiles off the floor. His mind churning with questions, Stiles takes it and lets himself be pulled up. Scott makes a small noise, a little huff that almost sounds as if he’s laughing at Stiles, but Stiles’ focus is still on Talia’s words:

 

“Was that it? There’s nothing else she can do?” Stiles demands, but Scott bumps him gently from behind and he swallows the rest of what was going to be an epic rant. Derek shakes his head, but that seems to be as much to express his own incomprehension as it is an answer to Stiles’ question. So Stiles focuses on the question that is actually the most pressing right now, given the imminent change of seasons and their otherwise non-existent prospects: “Did she really mean it? Can we stay here? And for how long?”

 

This time Derek’s nod is immediate and sure.

 

“You are welcome here as long as you wish to stay,” he says firmly, leading Stiles and Scott out of the throne room and down several corridors. “My mother wouldn’t extend such an offer if she didn’t mean it. And I don’t believe she is ready to give up on Scott yet, though I don’t want to create any false hopes - her Alpha power showing no favourable reaction is not a good sign. But still, perhaps we’ll figure something else out to help him. In the meantime - and beyond - you will be our guests if you consent to stay.” 

 

Stiles mulls over this while Derek leads them deeper into the castle, grateful for the offer, but still unsure of their welcome. So he finally decides to voice those concerns: “It is a most gracious offer and I cannot thank you enough for it, but I,  _ we _ don’t want to intrude or overstay our welcome.” Next to him, Scott makes a noise as if to say “speak for yourself, I’d personally love to stay in a castle with a regular food supply as opposed to a ramshackle hut where I have to hunt my own food.” But Stiles ignores him to focus on Derek’s reaction. 

 

Derek actually stops walking altogether and comes to a halt in the middle of a long corridor, turning to face Stiles, who has stopped next to him. Slowly, giving Stiles plenty of time to pull away if he wants to, Derek reaches for Stiles’ hands, taking them in both of his and staring intently into Stiles’ eyes.

 

“Please do not doubt. Your presence here will be of no detriment to us - we have the space and the means to feed two more mouths - in fact you’d honour us were you to stay.” He hesitates and then adds in a rush: “I wish you’d stay here because I’d like to get to know you, if you’d like that, too.”

 

Stiles’ mouth drops open and he can feel his cheeks getting hot, but a blush is spreading across Derek’s face, too, so at least he’s not alone. The tension between them gets thicker with every second that ticks by and Stiles hunts for something more profound to say than “Yes, please, thank you.” 

 

Scott’s sudden whine breaks them apart, Derek letting go of Stiles’ hands abruptly as if only now remembering that they are not alone. Stiles clears his throat and glares down at Scott who just blinks up at him in rather obvious faux innocence. So Stiles sticks out his tongue at him, momentarily forgetting that Derek is still standing there, too. When Stiles looks back up, Derek’s expression is caught between amused and incredulous, but he was the one that said he wanted to get to know Stiles, so he’s just getting what he wants. 

 

And if Stiles is quite honest with himself, he’d really like to get to know Derek, too.

 

~*~

 

Life in Castle Hale turns out to be quite busy. Scott and Stiles share a room close to the royal quarters - it’s only after a few months of living there that Stiles realises what an honour that is. At first there’s so many new people to meet - the entire royal family alone demands quite a bit of time. There’s Talia’s husband and Prince Consort, Lawrence Hale, the only human member of the Hale clan, who immediately drags Stiles into a hug, claiming that they have to stick together with a wink. Talia’s brother, Peter Hale, also tries to draw Stiles into a hug, but for some reason Derek growls at him and he changes track and just shakes hands with Stiles. Given the way the handshake draws out and includes a prolonged caress, Stiles is quite relieved that he didn’t have to experience what hugging that man is like and resolves to make sure they are never alone together. 

 

Derek’s older sister, the Crown Princess Laura, seems to be much nicer, her hug warm, but short, welcoming Stiles and Scott to the castle and repeating the invitation to stay however long they’d like that her mother had extended, adding that: “I’m sure  _ someone _ will find an incentive to make you stay for good!” Stiles has a feeling he’s missing something there, because Derek suddenly develops a coughing fit that turns his face bright red, but Laura just grins and winks at Stiles when he looks at her questioningly. Derek’s younger siblings, Cora, who is the same age as Scott and Stiles, and Liam, who is a couple of years younger, are more interested in Scott than Stiles anyway, which makes for a nice change. Liam is still young enough to have no qualms about throwing himself at Scott to hug and pet him whereas Cora is old enough to feel too cool for that, but, using the excuse of watching over her younger brother, manages to sneak in a stroke or three, too. Stiles just gets a distracted wave thrown his way but he doesn’t mind, Scott’s surprise and then delight at being accepted and appreciated so easily is much better than having another pair of eyes focussed on him. Stiles really has gotten enough attention already to last him a month at least. After months of living in the forest with only Scott as a companion, who can’t even speak in his wolf form, it is all quite overwhelming.

 

Thankfully Derek seems to be able to sense as much, because he steps forward and says: “Now that the introductions have been made, we don’t want to keep you all away from your duties any longer. I am sure you are all busy; I can keep showing Stiles and Scott around on my own.”

 

Talia just smiles and inclines her head in acknowledgement, but Lawrence waves and promises Stiles that they’ll get together soon to exchange tips and tricks on how to deal with werewolves and Laura even darts forward to press a quick kiss to Stiles’ cheek and whisper into his ear: “Take good care of my brother, okay?” which doesn’t really make sense to Stiles, because he’s the one on unfamiliar turf here, not Derek, but he has a feeling that Laura’s comments going over his head is going to be the standard for a while yet. 

 

Peter however just smirks and says: “I’m completely free this afternoon, nephew, I could grace you with my presence a little longer.” 

 

Derek tenses next to Stiles and Stiles readies himself to either jump between two werewolves or to grab Scott and run - he hasn’t decided yet, but Talia, already almost through the door, turns back and barks: “Peter!” For a moment, Stiles fears Peter is not going to listen, but then Peter smirks and takes a mocking bow: “I must ask you to excuse me after all; my liege calls for me.” He throws in a wink in Stiles’ direction and then sashays past Talia out of the room. Talia rolls her eyes, smiles at them in commiseration, and then leaves, too.

 

With the room empty except for Stiles and Derek - and the two youngest Hales, but they don’t count because they are still wholly focused on Scott, Stiles can breathe more freely again. “Thank you,” he says, and clears his throat because his voice is surprisingly hoarse. But then he has been talking more over the last few days than he has over the past few months. While Scott could understand him, he couldn’t really answer obviously, and while Stiles made a point of still talking, to remind them both that they are human and capable of human speech and thoughts, by and large talking had been pointless. And either way, even before Scott lost the ability to talk they had perfected the art of understanding each other wordlessly. So perhaps his hoarseness isn’t all that surprising after all.

 

Derek turns to him and asks, voice thankfully devoid of judgement: “Do you want to go back to your rooms?”

 

Stiles shakes his head adamantly before realising that he’s being rude, or could at least be seen that way. The Hales have taken them in and there’s no cause to complain about their rooms. But after all those months spent in the forest, with a thin pane of wood at most between them and the fresh air, as spacious as they are, their new rooms, surrounded by all the thick and cold stone, feel like a prison if he spends too much time in there. But he doesn’t want to insult the Hale’s home and hospitality, so he just says: “I’d like to see some more of your home, if that’s okay? But perhaps a part of it that’s - not so crowded? And has fresh air?”

 

Derek nods at him, looking like he’s mentally going through a list of appropriate place, before he cocks his head in the direction of Scott and his admirers in silent question.

 

“Oh, I don’t mind them; they can come along,” Stiles says, when he realises that Derek expects an answer to a question he never even asked. Scott does that, too, but at least  _ he _ has the excuse of being incapable of human speech in his current form.  _ Werewolves _ .

 

Derek seems to have decided on where to take them, because he directs his next words over Stiles’ shoulder: “Cora, Liam, let’s show Scott and Stiles the gardens. It’ll be easier to  _ run _ there, too.” He puts a strange emphasis on “run” that Stiles doesn’t get but that appears to hold meaning to Cora and Liam, because they both perk up and scramble to a stand, cajoling Scott into getting up as well, obviously excited at the prospect of  _ running _ , however that may differ from regular running. For now Stiles can’t tell any difference, as Liam storms down one of the long corridors of Castle Hale with Scott and Cora hot on his heels. Derek leads Stiles after them a bit more sedately, walking so close next to him that their shoulders brush together every few steps. Occasionally, Derek’s fingers also brush Stiles’ hand, and it almost feels like a caress. 

 

Soon enough, though, Derek quickens his steps to reach a big double door at the end of yet another corridor, pulling it open to let Stiles step through it first. And suddenly, he’s no longer surrounded by lifeless stone, but breathing in air vibrant with life. Plants upon plants, flowers upon flowers, gardens upon gardens as far as his eyes can see spread out before him. Stiles has seen gardens before - his mother’s kitchen garden, Deaton’s herb garden, even Kate Argent’s severe formal garden, accurately cut yews looming threateningly over each visitor, throwing their shadows across the paths. There’s topiary here, too, but it’s more playful, squirrels chasing birds, box foxes playing closer to the grass, even the huge yew trees marking the entrance to the garden are interesting rather than intimidating, cut into abstract shapes that at once resemble waves and clouds and the ripple of leaves in the wind. 

 

A warm hand on the small of his back jerks Stiles out of his awed staring. Derek doesn’t comment on his gaping, though; he just gently ushers Stiles down the steps between the yew trees into the garden proper, along a wide path bordered on each side by a bed of flowers. Most of them are obviously past their prime already, but even though it is autumn, there is an astounding amount of colour in those flower beds still, from the flowers, but also from the foliage and seeds. At the end of the path, the flower beds curve to the sides, opening up for a large circular lush green lawn. Scott and the youngest Hales must have taken a different path, because they have arrived before Stiles and Derek, all of them fairly vibrating with energy and apparently only waiting for permission, to go  _ running _ , Stiles assumes. What Derek is supposed to be giving them permission for, Stiles still doesn’t know.

 

Derek steps forward a small step, which makes his hand finally slide away from Stiles, who tries to hold back a shiver, suddenly feeling cold. Derek’s hand had remained a firm, but gentle presence on the small of Stiles’ back during their walk through the garden so far. It almost seems as though Derek is trying to put himself in front of Stiles, as if to better be able to protect him, though from what, Stiles can’t imagine. 

 

“Go ahead, you can  _ run _ with Scott until we are ready to leave or until it’s time for dinner,” Derek says sounding firm, but fond. And finally, Stiles understands what the difference between running and  _ running _ is, because after undressing with supernatural speed, apparently uncaring that they’ve got an audience, Cora and Liam suddenly start shifting, bones breaking and realigning, fur sprouting quickly  _ everywhere _ . And before Stiles can fully realise that this is a transformation he’s witnessed before, there’s not one, but three wolves standing in front of him, panting breaths loud in the sudden absence of any other sounds, all wildlife hidden and quiet, their eyes glowing where they are focused on Stiles. 

 

Stiles gulps and takes an automatic step backwards, putting himself more firmly behind Derek, now that there is something he might need protection from. He doesn’t think Cora and Liam would attack him - the Hales wouldn’t have offered them a place to stay and given them rooms to stay in, just to kill them now in the gardens, right? - but to be the focus of twin golden stares is unnerving, to say the least. Derek speaking up finally takes the attention off Stiles:

 

“Go show Scott around, I’m sure he’ll be glad to stretch his legs, too. I’ll show Stiles around. There’ll be enough time to greet Stiles properly later.”

 

The wolf who used to be Cora yips and herds the other two down the path beneath a rose pergola leading off towards the left. Stiles looks after them, trying to wrap his head around the newest development, until again, Derek’s touch distracts him again, a warm caress of hand touching hand, no longer accidental, but intentionally this time.

 

“Let’s walk, and I’ll explain,” Derek says, once Stiles looks up at him. 

 

He leads them through the garden, pointing out unusual plants or telling anecdotes like how Laura got caught in a compromising position with the kitchen maid under that rose arch once. He also explains how his entire family has the ability to shift into wolves and Stiles is relieved that Scott won’t be alone and that they really won’t treat him any differently. He also appreciates the warning that ‘greeting him properly’ will apparently involve plenty of wolf cuddles. Derek keeps the conversation light, obviously intent on cheering Stiles up and make him feel at ease.

 

And bit by bit, it works, Stiles can feel his heartbeat slowing down to a more normal speed, his breathing calming, and all his muscles relaxing from where they’d tensed up. So when Derek’s hand brushes against his next, Stiles grabs it and squeezes it in silent thanks.

 

Derek smiles at him and squeezes back.

 

~*~

 

Slowly Stiles settles into life at Castle Hale. 

 

He meets people upon people, and still there’s always someone new to talk to. It takes some getting used to after the months of solitude in the forest, but at heart Stiles thrives on company, on “having an audience”, as Derek teases him. He gets to know Derek’s closest friends: Boyd cares for the roses down in the garden and is set to become head gardener as soon as the old one retires, if Derek has any say. Erica is one of the captains of the Royal Guard, and was part of the hunt for Stiles and Scott, regularly teasing that she’d worked harder if she’d known what prize was waiting at the end for her. For some reason Derek always glares or growls at her for that, though Stiles doesn’t really know why, well aware that she’s just poking fun at him. Then there’s Isaac, who was fostered by the Hales when his family was killed by hunters. 

 

Derek’s indignation at Stiles calling him a hunter when they first met makes sense now. Apparently not all the surrounding kingdoms and realms are as accepting of shapeshifters as this one and employ hunters to pursue them. Stiles’ first instinct is to deny any possibility of that happening - weres are still humans after all, how could you hunt them? But then he remembers Kate Argent, and suddenly it makes all too much sense. She certainly employed hunters, even if Stiles always assumed their prey was purely animalistic by nature, and it makes it hard to look at Isaac sometimes and wonder if his family was killed by someone Stiles knew. Thankfully Isaac has been more interested in Scott than Stiles from the start, though, so the awkwardness is kept to a minimum.

 

The people Stiles is closest to are still the Hales, though, who have welcomed him and Scott with open arms. Laura always makes sure to set apart some time to catch up with him, even when busy with her duties as the Crown Princess. Lawrence has made good on his promise to teach Stiles how to live with werewolves and survive. He even asks Stiles to do exercises sometimes, though Stiles suspects that the main reason for that is because it always makes Talia laugh. Talia herself obviously does not have much time to dally away with some random boy her son picked up in the forest, but she does take care to spend time with her family, and often by extension Stiles and Scott, sharing meals or telling stories in front of the fireplace. She’s also the one to introduce Stiles to Lady Marin Morrell, her advisor, or emissary, as Talia calls her. 

 

Lady Morrell is an intimidating presence, tall and almost supernaturally beautiful, which says a lot when surrounded by literally supernatural beings. She helps Stiles scour the Hales’ library for any clues that might help them free Scott from his curse, and when Stiles reveals that he has some magic, even if he barely knows how to use it, takes him under her wing and teaches him how to. It turns out that she is Deaton’s sister, and is severely unimpressed at her brother’s teachings. Where Deaton had been mostly focused on theory, on studying creatures and spells and intents, Morrell teaches him how to “light his spark”, as she calls it. Stiles can’t produce any fireworks yet, but apparently that’s okay, and he just needs to work on his strength of belief and conviction. This is the first time someone has told Stiles he isn’t stubborn enough, and it’s quite refreshing.

 

Through Lady Morrell, he also gets to know Lydia, Morrell’s assistant and other student. No one seems to really know what she is, just that she has powers that give her night terrors, but also keep her safe from any magical enchantment or curse, giving her an immunity against all magic. Lydia is the one who spends the most time in the library with him, translating ancient tomes in the search for a cure for Scott until her eyes cross or her intended, Sir Jackson, Erica’s fellow Captain of the Guard, comes to get her, usually glaring at Stiles. He seems to be under the impression that Stiles has any intention of stealing Lydia away from him - as if anyone would have a chance to steal Lydia if she doesn’t want to be stolen! But even with Lydia’s help, Stiles doesn’t get any closer to lifting the curse Kate Argent put on Scott.

 

Scott, to his credit, appears to lay no blame at Stiles’ feet, unlike Stiles himself. He is as friendly and open as ever, settling into life at Castle Hale even quicker than Stiles. It probably helps that all of the Hales spend time shifted with him, and that everyone treats him with respect, and not like a mere animal. Still, Stiles wishes that there was more he could do, but when he confesses that at night in the rooms they still share, Scott just licks a broad, wet stripe across his face in a very clear “shut up, it’s not your fault, and now stop whining and let me sleep.”

 

The one Stiles spends the most time with, though, is Derek. At first Stiles worries that Derek is just feeling responsible, because he was the one that picked him up off the streets, or forest as it were. But when he tries to cautiously let Derek know that there’s no need to shepherd him, Derek doesn’t react like Stiles expects him to. Not that he’d really known what to expect, he’d just thought it’d be somewhere along the lines of either a bad, obvious attempt at denial and deflection or Derek straight up standing up and leaving. What he doesn’t expect is for Derek to take his hand and press a lingering kiss to the back of it that makes Stiles’ cheeks burn. 

 

“I assure you, I am here of no will but my own,” Derek says lowly, meeting Stiles’ eyes levelly. “I’d thought you aware of that; I am sorry to have caused you any doubts.” He looks as though he wants to add something else, but decides not to in the end. Stiles swallows, mind trying to wrap around this new development, and finally settles on a nonverbal response. He squeezes Derek’s hand and darts forward to press a soft kiss on Derek’s cheek, only pulling back far enough to whisper into his ear: “I’m very glad to hear that.” 

 

They stare at each other in silence for a long moment and Stiles thinks it should be awkward, but it isn’t; it’s surprisingly comfortable. Eventually he breaks their gaze, though, to look down at their still joined hands. Impulsively, he lifts them up and presses a kiss against Derek’s hand.

 

“Tell me a story?” he asks and Derek asks in turn: “What would you like to hear?”

 

“A werewolf fairy tale - something your parents told you, something with a happy ending?”

 

Derek nods, hesitates shortly, and then smiles and starts: 

 

“Once upon a time there lived a wolf and a spark. 

They loved each other very much, so much that the Great Pack looked down upon them and smiled and blessed their union. 

But an evil hunter was filled with hate and jealousy and begrudged them their love and blessing. The wolf was too strong for the hunter to touch, so he fought the spark instead. What a terrible fight that was, moving mountains and draining oceans! But in the end, foe slay foe, and both hunter and spark were dead.

The wolf’s howls filled the air then and its misery moved the Great Pack to raise their voices along with the wolf until finally the Great Alpha granted wolf and spark a second chance: 

Three nights, the spark appeared to the wolf, who dared not address this vision.

But on the third night, the last night, wolf saw spark and recognised their intended. And the Great Alpha saw their love and saw the tragedy that broke them apart and showed mercy: Breathing life into the spark again, so wolf and spark could be reunited in life.

And thus the wolf and the spark joined their hands in holy matrimony and lived together happily ever after.

The End.”

 

Stiles ducks his head and presses a kiss against Derek’s hand with a smile.

 

“Thank you for telling me that story, Derek. Though I hope you don’t expect us to follow it to the letter - I have no intention of dying, you know, even if I get resurrected by the Great Alpha.”

 

Derek looks almost comically shocked: “I do not wish for you to die, Stiles, that was not what I was trying to say with this tale!”

 

“I know,” Stiles laughs and squeezes Derek’s hand gently. “I was just teasing you; I’m sorry. What were you trying to say then?”

 

To Stiles’ surprise, Derek starts blushing, first his ears burn red, then his cheeks, until finally the flush disappears down his collar. It’s terribly cute in Stiles’ unbiased opinion.

 

“I know it is far too early and far too quick and Laura would mock me terribly if she could hear me now, but … this was my favourite fairy tale growing up and I always dreamed of that: a love so strong that it moves the Great Alpha, and I know we haven’t known each other long, but I wish to get to know you better and I hope that we might share the end of the tale with the wolf and spark of the story one day.”

 

“Oh, the ‘holy matrimony’?” Stiles grins and Derek flushes even more deeply, which Stiles hadn’t even thought possible. So there’s just one answer that he can possibly give to that: 

 

Slowly leaning forward, to give Derek plenty of time to pull back if he so wishes, Stiles presses his lips against Derek’s in a soft, lingering kiss full of unspoken promise. Drawing back only a hair’s breadth, he whispers:

 

“I would like that, too, my sweet wolf.” 

 

~*~

 

A year has passed before Stiles realises it, life at Castle Hale busy and still able to surprise him when Stiles least expects it. This time it’s Derek taking him on a surprise ride, just the two of them, in full view of the whole castle and no one tries to stop them. That is a surprise because it had become increasingly hard for the two of them to be alone together. There’d been a time when no one batted an eye at Stiles and Derek being alone together, but at some point that had changed and suddenly they’d always found themselves some additional company, even if they did not want it, almost as if the entire castle was playing chaperone. It had been a very strange and often annoying development, though Stiles and Derek had managed to sneak away a few times and there had been quite a few rushed kisses in dark corners and empty hallways that Stiles remembers fondly. Still, it makes for a nice change to have Derek all to himself again and not have to watch over his shoulder all the time to make sure no one catches them. 

 

Derek leads them out of the castle and through the surrounding settlements, ambling along at a sedate pace that gives them plenty of opportunity to talk. It’s a beautiful day, well into autumn, but recalling the warmth of summer with the last rays of sunshine heating up the air, making the colours of the changing leaves seem to glow. They pass several places where it would be nice to stop and have a picnic with the food Stiles  _ knows _ Derek has in his saddle bags, but Derek just keeps on leading them further and further away from the castle, and eventually Stiles realises that they’re retracing the steps of their first ride together - when Derek found Stiles and Scott in the forest and brought them to the castle. 

 

Indeed, not long after this realisation they enter the forest Stiles hasn’t visited again in a year and Stiles has a feeling he knows where this - or rather  _ they _ are going. Sure enough, Derek finally dismounts in front of a very familiar, if looking even more decrepit now, hut. 

 

“Are you hinting that I should go back to where I came from?” Stiles teases as he dismounts, too, grinning when Derek jerks up from where he’d tied his horse close to the little stream, mouth open for a vehement denial, and, realising Stiles is only joking, glares at him. 

 

“Keep that up and I might!” Derek snarks back, but Stiles can tell his heart isn’t in it, that he’s distracted by something else that occupies his thoughts. Stiles might not have a supernatural nose and ears on his side, but he is neither blind nor stupid. Derek brought him out here for a reason. But Stiles has also gotten to know Derek over the past year, and he knows that no amount of needling and goading is going to achieve anything but annoy Derek, so he keeps his mouth shut and lets Derek putter around in the clearing in silence. He’s indeed putting out the food Stiles just  _ knew _ was hidden in those big saddle bags. It’s an assortment of all of Stiles’ favourites and now he really knows something is up. The pessimistic side of him thinks that Derek is trying to lessen some blow he’s about to be dealt, whereas the optimistic side doesn’t even dare to think all of his thoughts through to the end. In the end, Stiles’ realistic side settles on distract and deflect, with a dash of self-deprecating humour:

 

“What’s the occasion, Derbear? I haven’t forgotten my own birthday, have I?”

 

“Stop calling me ‘Derbear’,” Derek grumbles, pointedly ignoring Stiles’ question. “I should have never let Laura anywhere near you.”

 

With a gasp, Stiles clasps his hand over his heart: “You’d come between us? I’ll have you know that Laura’s and mine love is sweet and pure and entirely based on making fun of you,  _ Derbear _ ! How could you find any fault with that?”

 

Derek rolls his eyes and mutters: “See, that’s what I’m talking about.” Then he gestures to the feast spread out on a red blanket and says: “Let’s eat first, shall we?”

 

“Afraid of spoiling my appetite otherwise?” Stiles jokes, but gets only an earnest: “I do hope for a positive, rather than negative reaction” in return. Derek not snarking back? That does mean it’s serious, and Stiles tries to control his immediate urge to make light of the situation again.

 

They settle down on the blanket and start sharing the food. There’s well enough for both of them, and while Stiles shoulders the majority of the conversation, he makes sure to keep it light and relaxed, gossiping about Erica finally revealing her intentions towards Boyd or how Laura pissing off the cook has kept chicken off the menu for weeks. Stiles even manages to sneak in some romantic feeding each other, offering Derek a bite of his pasty and demanding a bite of Derek’s fancy sandwich, even though there’s more of both for each of them. It does make Derek smile, so Stiles steals a kiss instead of a bite next, and that’s how their picnic continues until they are both full. Stiles helps Derek pack away the leftovers, and then it’s just them on the blanket, lying on their sides, nose to nose.

 

“I had fun today,” Stiles says quietly, when Derek doesn’t seem to want to say anything. “Thank you for taking me out for a ride; I’ve missed the forest, and it was great to spend time alone with you again, without unsubtle chaperones.”

 

Derek smiles softly and nods: “I enjoyed that, too. And I'm sorry about the chaperones.”

 

“Huh?” Stiles asks, distracted by how the rays of sunshine sneaking through the foliage make the gold flecks in Derek's eyes glow almost coppery. “They aren't your fault, Derek. Unless there's something you neglected to tell me and you don't actually want to spend time alone with me and asked them along. But then today is the epitome of mixed signals,” he jokes. 

 

But Derek seems to be completely serious: “They were there for me, though, so it is my fault. Well, they were there for you, too, but they were there  _ because _ of me, because of what I  _ am _ .”

 

“Riiight?” Stiles offers, very lost as to where Derek is going with this. “And you are?”

 

“I am a prince, Stiles,” Derek says heavily as though this is supposed to be news to Stiles.

 

“I know, Derek,” he laughs, relieved that it's nothing worse. “It's pretty hard to miss when people call you ‘your highness’ left,  right, and centre! Though I think when Erica does it it's less reverence and more mockery,” he adds contemplatively.

 

Derek barks out a laugh: “Oh, Erica is definitely mocking me, no doubt about it. But no, that's not what I meant. I'm a prince, Stiles, and a prince can't just be alone with his intended, so -”

 

“Wait, what?” Stiles interrupts, sitting up abruptly. “What are you talking about, intended? Derek, do you have an intended you never told me about?” That little ball of hope growing in him has suddenly become a shard of ice. 

 

“No!” Derek exclaims, also sitting up quickly. “Oh Alpha, I'm going about this all wrong; Laura is going to have a field day when she hears about this,” he sighs, passing a hand in front of his face in apparent frustration. Stiles just crosses his arms in front of his chest and glares, still waiting for a sorely needed explanation.

 

Finally Derek seems to have come to a decision, straightening up resolutely: “I’m going to do this properly now.” He gestures towards Stiles and says: “Could you stand up, please, Stiles?”

 

“Sure?” Stiles replies, nonplussed. He gets up, expecting Derek to do the same, but Derek just moves from sitting in front of Stiles to kneeling in front of him and suddenly Stiles’ heart is going into overdrive. It only gets worse when Derek gently takes both of Stiles’ hands into his.

 

“Stiles Stilinski, son of John, we met one year ago in this exact place and I admit, I was not impressed.”

 

“That’s you doing it  _ properly _ ?” Stiles interrupts, laughing almost despite himself. Derek glares at him and Stiles exaggeratedly closes his mouth and wriggles his eyebrows to indicate Derek should keep going.

 

“As I was saying,” Derek continues pointedly, “I didn't fall in love at first sight but fall I did, slowly but surely and all the more deeply for it. Stiles, you've given me a freedom beyond the restraints my position put upon me and I am asking you, with all my heart and soul whether you'll do me the honour of becoming my intended and marry me?”

 

“Oh, so you meant  _ me _ ? You don’t have another intended stashed away somewhere in a tower?” Stiles asks, not quite able to believe it yet. It’s just too preposterous - a prince wanting to marry Stiles? 

 

Derek rolls his eyes: “Yes,  _ you _ ,  _ Stiles _ . You should really stop listening to Laura’s scandalous romance stories; real life isn’t a bard’s tale! And you haven’t answered my question yet.”

 

“But - what about your parents? Don’t they want someone more … respectable for you? You are a prince! Princes don’t marry runaway nobodies they found in the forest!” Stiles frets because there  _ has _ to be a catch. He doesn’t just get a happy ending like that!

 

“You should really ask my father how my parents met once - believe me, a ‘runaway nobody I found in the forest’ is nothing,” Derek snorts before sobering again. “Is that your answer though? ‘No,’ because my parents might not approve?”

 

“No!” Stiles exclaims, then corrects himself: “I mean - Yes! I mean - oh Alpha, I am no better at this than you are, am I?” He swallows and starts anew, gazing intently into Derek’s eyes: “While I have grown fond of your family and would wish for their approval, the only opinion that truly matters to me is yours, Derek. If you would have me, I could imagine no greater honour and joy than to become your intended and marry you.”

 

~*~

 

What Stiles hadn’t really considered, was how much of a  _ production _ marrying a prince would be. It requires planning and scheduling and  _ strategy _ , especially when it comes to seating arrangements. Apparently all the power in the world does not prevent even kings from being insecure little assholes when they think they are being disparaged - Talia’s words, not Stiles’. And apparently all the invites need to be signed by both Derek and Stiles - which is how Stiles knows  _ for sure _ that no Argent was invited. The Hales obviously know all about Kate and her evil ways, and Stiles couldn’t figure out how to sneak an invite to Allison while making sure that Kate wouldn’t see it, so imagine his surprise when he’s pulled into a dark corner of the castle the day of his wedding and for once the person he finds himself face to face to isn’t Derek, but Allison.

 

“Allison! What are you doing here? How did you come here? Have you seen Scott yet? Wait, do you even know about Scott yet? And how -” 

 

“Breathe, Stiles,” Allison interrupts him, dimpling at him prettily, though Stiles notices that her smile does not extend to her eyes, which are darting worried glances around them. “We don’t have any time and none of that matters right now. Kate is planning something - she is mortally offended that she was not invited, and when she realised that this is where you and Scott ended up, it only got worse.”

 

“What? What is she planning?” Stiles asks urgently, mind already going mad with possibilities. But Allison just frowns and says: “I don’t know; I’m sorry. She hasn’t really trusted me since - Scott.” Here, she stops and swallows and even in the dim light Stiles can see the tears glinting in her eyes. “I only managed to sneak away now because she was so focused on her plans. I think fire is involved somehow - she kept crowing over it being “one thing werewolves don’t heal from”. That’s another thing - whatever it is she’s planning, it’s not just about finally getting you and Scott; it’s also about the Hales. She’s almost obsessed with them and bringing them down. You’ve got to warn them, Stiles!”

 

“I will, Allie, I promise,” Stiles says, surprised himself at how hard his voice sounds. But these people took him in when they didn’t have to and he’ll be damned if he lets Kate Argent, who started all of this, hurt even one hair on their heads because of him. He doesn’t know where anyone is currently, though; they are all busy with the last preparations before the ceremony this afternoon. Stiles is supposed to be getting ready himself right now and he just knows that Derek is being prepped by his siblings somewhere in the castle, but not where exactly, because apparently there can’t be ‘any chance of the two grooms seeing each other on the day of the wedding’ - Cora had been very strict about that. And unlike the werewolves, Stiles can’t just sniff them out.

 

But he does know someone who can!

 

“Come on, Allison, I have a plan,” Stiles says, already grabbing for her hand and pulling her in the direction of his and Scott’s rooms hurriedly, not waiting for a reaction. He only slows down when he comes to a realisation: “Do you - do you know about Scott yet?”

 

Allison nods and explains: “Kate likes to brag - when she heard about you always being accompanied by a wolf, she wouldn’t stop shutting up about it. Though she’d obviously have preferred it if Scott had ripped you apart in the woods.”

 

“ _ Obviously _ ,” Stiles mocks. “I’m pretty sure Scott would have preferred not being turned into a wolf at all, but we can’t all have what we want, can we? But so you do know, that’s good, because, well, we’re here, and hopefully Scott should be, too.”

 

He hesitates before opening the door, not sure if he should go in first and warn Scott, or let Allison go in alone, while the fear sitting ice cold in his belly urges him to forget about niceties and politeness and get a move on. In the end, Allison takes the decision away from him, pushing open the door herself and pulling him in with her. 

 

Stiles doesn’t know what he expects - a tearful reunion, or maybe even for Scott to magically transform back because of the power of human love, but Allison is of course more practical than that. She just darts forward to throw her arms around Scott, hiding her face in his fur for a moment, while Scott tries to lick her cheek, but only gets her hair in his snout instead. When Allison straightens back up, her face is dry and her eyes determined.

 

“What’s the plan, Stiles?”

 

Stiles swallows hard and then pulls himself together by force of will: 

 

“Scott, I need to find Derek or Talia, or any of the Hales really, and warn them that Kate Argent is here and planning something nefarious, and I need you to sniff them out as quickly as possible! Would you do that?”

 

But Scott is already moving towards the door, looking back at Stiles as if saying: ‘Well, what are you waiting for then?’

 

Stiles looks at Allison, who rises smoothly and lifts an eyebrow as if to say: ‘You heard him.’ So Stiles takes one last deep breath and steps back out into the corridor after Scott, who only waits long enough to make sure that they are both following him before he starts off towards the centre of the castle. Stiles doesn’t know which scent Scott is following, but he shows no signs of hesitation, so Stiles just trots after him, mentally going through the next steps they will have to take. Inform the Hales, then somehow find Kate, and  _ somehow _ apprehend her? It’s all very vague still in Stiles’ head and he seriously hopes someone else will come up with a better plan.

 

But before they reach anyone else, Scott stops at a corridor crossing, looking back and forth between the two potential paths they have before them. Stiles comes to a stop next to him, a quick glance around telling him that they are close to the throne room, where the wedding is supposed to take place. He wonders whether there’s too many scents here for Scott to tell apart, because everyone’s been in and out while preparing the ceremony and the festivities, or whether he’s getting different scents from different corridors and is just deciding whether to go to Derek or Talia for help. But then Scott starts growling when he faces the corridor leading to the throne room and whining when facing the other way, and suddenly Stiles knows what the problem is.

 

“She’s there, isn’t she?” he asks and Scott nods. “And Derek is that way?” Scott yips and Stiles steels himself. “Okay, then you and Allison keep going and tell Derek what’s going on and I’ll see what Kate is up to.”

 

“No!” Allison exclaims. “Stiles, you can’t - let me; I can talk to her while you get the Hales and then -”

 

“Allie, do you really think she’d listen to you?” Stiles asks, proud that his voice remains steady despite the nerves wrecking his insides. “She has magic, remember? Even if you had a bow here, your arrows wouldn’t work against her. And you don’t have magic, but I do. I don’t know if it’s enough, but I have to try. This is my home now; the people she’s threatening are my family, Allison, I just have to  _ try _ .”

 

Scott whines and Stiles laughs wetly and leans down to give him a hard hug: “Yes, Scotty, you were my family first and always will be. And I know they’ve become your family, too, so  _ please _ , convince your …  _ Allison _ that she needs to come with you and warn them.”

 

Scott licks a quick, wet stripe across Stiles’ already damp cheek and then sits back and directs his best puppy dog eyes at Allison. Those have only gotten more deathly since he’d been turned into an actual puppy, so it doesn’t take long for Allison to cave:

 

“We’ll do it your way, but if you die, I’ll bring you back somehow to kill you myself!” 

 

She squeezes him quickly, but strongly, presses a kiss against his cheek and then marches off along the corridor, probably to give Scott and Stiles a moment together. Stiles kneels down next to him and hides his face in Scott’s warm fur, whispering: “You take care of yourself and Allison, okay? And let her take care of you, too. And tell Derek-” Here he has to bite back a sob and Scott actually growls at him. Stiles pats his side and relents: “Fine, I’ll tell him myself. Now go after your girl, you big baby!”

 

Scott gently headbutts Stiles once and then bounds after Allison. Stiles remains seated for a moment longer to get his breathing under control. He’s not nearly as confident as he tried to appear that he’ll be able to hold to the promises Allison and Scott demanded from him. He has no idea what Kate is planning, has no plan in place to counteract her actions, has nothing at all actually, not even a few kernels of mountain ash, though that would admittedly probably be of no help against Kate.

 

The only weapon Stiles has is his spark, supported by his own belief and ignited by his love for the people under threat here. Stiles just hopes it’ll be enough. It just has to be. Letting Kate Argent win and letting everyone he loves die is just not an option.

 

~*~

 

Now that he doesn’t have Scott leading him anymore, Stiles can’t be sure he’s heading in the right direction, but his gut tells him Kate is in the throne room. It is the spiritual and physical centre of the castle - if she wants her attack to have the greatest impact, she’ll be there. He makes sure to keep his steps light and careful - the element of surprise is all he’s got going for him here. He doesn’t know what he’ll surprise Kate with yet, but he does know that if he doesn’t have surprise on his side he’s got no chance at all. So tiptoeing down the hall it is.

 

The double doors to the throne room are thankfully open, so at least Stiles doesn’t have to worry about them creaking. He sneaks along the walls and peers inside carefully. The throne room has been decked out with flowers and colourful leaves, the tapestries cleaned and mended where necessary, the stone floor has been scrubbed so much it’s almost gleaming in the light of hundreds of candles and candelabras and Stiles feels a pang of conscience that all of this hard work will probably get messed up really soon. It all looks lovely and Stiles can all too easily imagine himself and Derek standing on the dais at the end of the room and getting married. But for that to happen, Kate needs to be found and stopped.

 

At first he thinks that she isn’t here after all, and his breathing speeds up at the thought of having to find her all on his own, when she could be anywhere in the castle right now. But then he sees her - she’s walking the perimeter of the room, sprinkling something on the floor with one hand and letting some fluid drip out of a jug she’s holding in her other hand. Whenever she passes a tapestry, she smears some of the fluid as high up as she can reach, too. What scares Stiles the most is how utterly relaxed and even joyful she looks - there’s no sign that she’s worried about anyone discovering her or that she has any doubts about whatever she’s doing. Given Allison’s earlier comments about fire and the oily looking fluid Kate is spreading around the room, Stiles would guess that her plan is to set the room aflame. Whether she’s planning to wait until everyone has gathered here (though how she plans to hide her preparations from a hall full of werewolves, Stiles doesn’t know) or whether she’s got something else in mind entirely, Stiles can’t tell, but the icy ball in his belly tells him that he has to do something  _ now _ if he wants to stop her before it’s too late. The question is just -  _ what _ ?

 

Kate takes that decision from him when she turns around and says: 

 

“Stiles! Here to save your friends, I guess?”

 

Stiles gulps and finally steps into the throne room. There’s no point hiding anymore after all. Perhaps he can keep her talking and stall her long enough for the clawed and fanged cavalry to arrive. Talking is at least something he’s good at.

 

“I’m not going to let you hurt them,” he says, trying to sound more confident than he feels, but Kate just laughs.

 

“I am shaking in my boots right now,” she mocks. “You and whose army?”

 

“The Hales are right behind me,” Stiles claims, glad that she can’t hear his heart speeding up at the lie. “They know you are here and they are coming for you!” 

 

Kate smirks and extends one hand towards Stiles, palm up.

 

“Guess what I have here, my little hero?” she purrs and Stiles barely has time to recognise the small pile of mountain ash before she takes a deep breath and blows the ash away. Stiles flinches and automatically closes his eyes, but the mountain ash doesn’t hit him. When he opens his eyes again, he can see it forming a circle around them, slowly extending until it merges with the circle Kate has spread around the room, filling in any holes, until there’s no weaknesses left. “I guess that means it’s just you and me, sweetie,” Kate winks. “I don’t think anyone else is going to join us, or do you?”

 

“There’s still humans here,” Stiles shrugs, desperately trying to look far more confident than he feels. “Allison is in the castle and she’s going to be here any minute and then she’ll break the circle and then, guess what?” he mocks her: “Then you’ll get your throat ripped out.”

 

“Oh, is that so?” Kate asks, apparently completely unfazed by the gruesome fate Stiles is promising her. She’s still smirking and suddenly, before Stiles can react, she takes two quick steps to the side and grabs one of the many candles that light the room. “What about now?” And with that she ignites the jug of oil she’s still holding and throws it behind her, where it hits the great tapestry behind the dais and shatters, setting the cloth aflame. For a long moment, Stiles thinks that’s all that will catch fire, that Kate’s plan hasn’t worked, that he can still break the mountain ash circle to let help in if he moves quickly. But then he’s suddenly facing a wall of fire that makes him shrink back from the heat as the line of oil Kate poured out ignites suddenly.

 

“Stiles!”

 

A desperate yell makes him spin around to see Derek pressed against the invisible, but nevertheless impenetrable wall raised by the mountain ash, eyes glowing bright blue even through the smoke that is quickly filling the throne room with ever more tapestries going up in flames as the fire races around the edges of the room. Before Stiles can take more than two steps towards Derek though, the circle of flames closes and Stiles hears Derek cry out in pain when the fire reaches him, but he can’t see him anymore, just shadows moving behind the blaze.

 

“Derek!” he screams desperately, running towards the doors, but having to stop several steps away when the heat gets to great to take. “Derek, are you okay?”

 

There’s a moment of agonizing silence other than the roar of the flames surrounding him and then, finally, Derek’s voice, pained but alive:

 

“Stiles! I’m okay, how are you? Please say something!”

 

“Oh isn’t this just sickeningly sweet?” Kate whispers into his ear. making Stiles jump because he’d completely forgotten about her. “It almost sounds like the wolf has a heart! What a shame to break it then! But don’t worry, he’s not going to suffer long,” she assures him. “Oh no, I’ll deal with you first and then I’ll put those animals out of their misery.” 

 

Her sneer completely transforms her face and Stiles hysterically thinks that he’s never seen something so ugly and revolting in his life. The smoke is making it hard to breath, hard to think, and the only thought that remains clear is: ‘I have to save them, have to save  _ him _ .’

 

Kate is still talking, but Stiles doesn’t listen, can’t focus on her spewing vitriol about cleansing the world from monsters, because he has to concentrate, has to  _ believe _ \- that Derek is okay, that he’ll be fine, that he’ll live if Stiles just does this one thing, that the other shadows moving behind the wall of fire are Talia or Peter, someone who will take care of Kate,  _ kill her _ , if only Stiles can  _ break this circle of mountain ash _ . There’s a pop, and suddenly Stiles feels as though he’s under water, everything slightly fuzzy, sounds and sight warped, and he distantly realises that he’s overdone it this time, that this was more magic than his spark could channel. But the shadows moving behind the still raging flames seem to be moving with purpose now, so Stiles thinks it worked. With the mountain ash no longer holding them back, the werewolves will now be able to cross the wall of fire and make short work of Kate. And then Stiles can sleep.

 

“Oh no, you don’t,” is suddenly hissed into his ear and Stiles is pulled up forcibly by his lapels - when did he even fall down? He sluggishly forces open his heavy eyelids and finds himself nose to nose with Kate, who is studying him intently. Then she closes her eyes and suddenly Stiles is looking into his own face. His opponent’s eyes slide slowly open and a smirk spreads across his - Kate’s - his face: “Say bye, bye!”

 

Then she plunges a knife she must have hidden somewhere into Stiles’ back and pushes him away from her. Stiles’ mouth opens in a silent scream and his legs crumble underneath him. The last thing he sees is Derek coming through the wall of fire, eyes burning with pure, unadulterated hate. “Derek,” Stiles gasps, but the blond curls bouncing in the corner of his eye tell him everything he needs to know and the darkness encroaching on his sight from all sides tells him how this will end.

 

Kate used a glamour to switch their appearances and now Stiles is going to die and his intended will not mourn but rejoice. At least Stiles will not live to see him embrace another.

 

And with that thought, everything thankfully becomes black.

 

~*~

 

When Stiles wakes up, the first thing he feels is relief. 

 

Quickly followed by panic because that is literally all he feels. As grateful as he is not to, he really should be feeling some pain, shouldn’t he? Or just even his limbs?

 

But all he feels is light, as if his body is not even there. But a panicked glance downwards shows that everything is accounted for, he just cannot feel it. At best, he feels as though he’s standing in a light breeze, airy and weightless, like he’ll be blown away when hit with a slightly stronger blast of air. His mind still fuzzy, he decides to ignore that particular conundrum right now and focus on where he is instead. He expects to be in his own bed, or perhaps even with Lady Morrell, but instead he’s lying on the cold stone floor of the throne room. And the only reason he knows it is cold is because he knows it  _ has _ to be, not because he’s actually feeling it. 

 

Something seems to be very, very wrong with him and even through the haze that still slows down his thoughts Stiles is starting to panic. Desperately, he looks around himself for an answer, for anyone to explain what is going on here. But he’s alone.

 

Jumping up is way too easy, Stiles notes even through his ever growing panic. It’s as though his body wants to float up, up, up, and Stiles has to work to keep his feet on the ground - which is hard to do when he  _ still can’t feel them _ . Standing gives him a better view of the throne room, though, and he sadly takes in the scorch marks all along the walls and even the ceiling, the black remnants of what used to be colourful tapestries, piles of ashes around the room as though someone has started to clean up but given up again. A tapestry that looks just singed, but is mostly whole covers something lying up on the dais, but Stiles does not care enough to get closer right now. Because looking around also confirms that he is indeed completely alone, which just does not make any sense. He’d have at least expected Derek to wait for him to wake up, to stay at his side. 

 

Then he remembers with a jolt the glamour Kate put on them both just before everything went dark, but another quick glance down reassures him that his body is his own once more. But then where is everyone? And shouldn’t one of the werewolves have realised he’s woken up by now? What are those super senses good for anyways?

 

Tentatively he calls out: “Derek? Hello? Anyone?” But even straining his ears reveals no increased activity outside of the throne room, so no one seems to have heard him.

 

Well then, if no one will come to him, Stiles will just have to go and find them himself, so he straightens and strides towards the still open double doors of the throne room with determination. Or steps very carefully at least, because he does still not feel completely in control of his strange weightless and senseless body. 

 

The corridor leading up to the throne room is empty, too, so Stiles turns towards the direction of the royal apartments. Surely there has to be someone there at least, who will be able to catch him up on what happened and why he had to wake up in the throne room alone. Indeed, when he reaches them, Cora is just coming out of her rooms and Stiles hurries towards her in relief.

 

“Cora! I’m so glad you are okay, please, how is everyone else? Did you manage to get Kate in the end?”

 

But Cora simply ignores him, walking along the corridor in the direction of Derek’s rooms, acting as if Stiles is not even here. Stiles comes to a stop, staring after her in hurt and confusion and then running to catch up with her, suddenly filled with righteous fury.

 

“Are you ignoring me right now? Are you  _ mad _ at me? What did I do? Is it because I didn’t stop Kate quickly enough? I tried, but I’m not a werewolf, you know! And it’s really speciesist of you to hold that against me! I broke the mountain ash line at least! Seriously, Cora, this is not funny, cut it out! Cora! Please!”

 

He’s getting increasingly desperate while Cora still acts completely unaffected. She simply opens the door to Derek’s rooms without a world and Stiles has to jump to make sure he makes it inside before it falls shut again.

 

“Careful! Breakable human here, remember?” he chides, but Cora just says, obviously not directed at him: “How is he today, Der?”

 

And only then does Stiles realise that Derek’s in the room, too, sitting next to his own bed, which is occupied by a seemingly sleeping figure. Stiles expects Derek to react to his presence at least, but he just looks over Cora’s shoulder for one short moment, looking  _ through _ Stiles before focusing on Cora again: 

 

“No changes, Cora. Lady Morrell says using so much magic exhausted him and breathing in the smoke from the fire hurt him, too. She says we’ll just have to wait and hope.”

 

Curious, Stiles steps closer to see who Derek is talking about and then jerks back when he sees his own face, white and lifeless, but still breathing shallowly. Only it’s not his own face - the details are wrong somehow and Stiles just knows that  _ that is not him _ . Desperately he turns around and kneels in front of Derek, willing him to just look at him.

 

“Derek. Derek! Derek, look at me please, listen to me! Derek, that is not me, Derek, I’m here! Derek!!”

 

By the end he’s shouting, but Derek still doesn’t react. And Stiles knows why. Because he isn’t really here. He’s dead - and the person wearing his face and lying in Derek’s bed is Kate.

 

~*~

 

The shock and subsequent panic only take over for a short while before Stiles forcibly pulls himself together again. He might be dead, but he’s still  _ here _ , and there has to be a reason for that. Perhaps he can’t move on until Kate is dead and buried, or perhaps he needs to say goodbye to Derek and Scott one last time, but something is keeping him here and he’s going to figure out what it is. And if he can manage to take Kate with him when he finally has to leave this plane, then he’ll go gladly. 

 

First, he tries everything he can think of to make sure that Derek and Cora are not playing a very elaborate, very cruel prank on him - singing, dancing, screaming, nothing provokes a reaction. Once, Stiles thinks Derek can actually see him, eyes boring into his, but then Derek shudders and his eyes slide off Stiles again, as if he’s simply not there. 

 

Next comes touching - Cora first, because Stiles somehow needs to work his way up to Derek. Cora doesn’t react to any of his touches though, not even when he pokes her in the eye out of desperation. She just blinks rapidly a few times, but that might have been a mere coincidence. Touching Derek is harder somehow, mainly because Stiles doesn’t know what he’ll do if Derek is simply immune to his touch. The thought is unbearable, so Stiles starts lightly, very lightly, so he can excuse Derek’s non-reaction to himself. Tugging on his sleeve doesn’t do any good, nor does touching his shoulder or patting his knee. Increasingly desperate, Stiles starts doing anything he can think of, stroking Derek’s exposed neck, cupping Derek’s face in his face, finally even slapping and punching him in frantic distress. 

 

When nothing works, Stiles sinks to the floor in front of Derek’s feet with a sob and hides his face in his hands. What can he hope to achieve when he cannot even affect his intended? How can he believe himself to be anything but utterly dead when he’s this removed from the world of the living?

 

There’s one thing he hasn’t tried, and it’s at once one last, desperate attempt as it is Stiles’ way to say goodbye when he rises again and leans over Derek to press a soft, lingering kiss to his unresponsive lips. But just when Stiles is about to break the kiss and beg whoever listens to take him away from here, there is the slightest answering pressure, as if Derek isn’t entirely sure what is feeling and how to respond. It’s barely there, but it’s enough to reinvigorate Stiles, giving him hope and new strength. With renewed determination he presses one more kiss to Derek’s lips, this one hard and full of promise. 

 

Then everything becomes black again.

 

~*~

 

When Stiles wakes up the next time he already expects the feeling of weightlessness. He’s back in the throne room and notices that it’s a little cleaner, less ash on the floor. There’s still a body hidden under a tapestry up on the dais but now that Stiles is pretty sure that that is his body, he wants to get a closer look even less than before. 

 

This time he goes straight to Derek, something in his gut telling him that time is of the essence. He remembers the story Derek told him not long after they met, about the wolf and the spark and their love and the second chance granted by the Great Pack. If Stiles has also been granted a second chance then he has only two more nights - this one and the following - to get Derek to see him and recognise him and convince the Great Alpha of their love and how deserving of a blessing it is.

 

Instead of Cora, Stiles meets Lydia in the corridor in front of Derek’s room this evening. But instead of ignoring him like he expects, Lydia zones in on him and starts screaming. Before Stiles can think of how to proceed, utterly thrown by this unexpected reaction - when he’d just gotten used to provoking no reaction at all, Derek has already come running out of his rooms and catches Lydia when she starts swaying and threatens to fall.

 

“Lydia, what is it? What’s wrong?” he demands and Lydia just pants out: “Stiles.”

 

“Did you scream for Stiles?” Derek asks and the worry and pain on his face breaks Stiles’ heart. “Is he dying; is that why you screamed? Like you screamed for Kate?”

 

‘Seems like Lydia finally figured out what she is - being a Banshee would explain why she can see me,’ Stiles thinks distantly but Lydia is already talking again:

 

“No, I mean, Stiles! He’s here! Just standing there!” And with that she points an accusing finger at Stiles and for a moment Stiles thinks that this is it, that now Derek will look at him and recognise him and everyone will end up happily ever after, but then Derek’s gaze skitters past him again, as if he’s nothing more than air.

 

“No, Stiles is in there,” Derek starts, but Stiles simply talks over him, even if he can’t hear it: 

 

“Yes, Stiles is here and you didn’t scream for Kate, Lydia, you screamed for me. Because the one in Derek’s bed is not me, it’s Kate wearing my face. I died wearing Kate’s face. You need to tell Derek that, you have to warn him. Please. He can’t hear me, but you can, so I’m begging you: tell him.”

 

Stiles feels that tug in the pit of his stomach that warns him that he doesn’t have much time left and panics over how much he has still left unsaid. Hurriedly, he adds, imploring Lydia to believe him: “I can only come once more, one more night, tomorrow, tell him that, too.” Stiles sees Lydia nod almost imperceptibly and turn towards Derek, and the relief he feels is even stronger than the fear at the world slowly getting dark again. Desperately, he calls out: “Derek, I love you! Please tell him that!”

 

But Lydia doesn’t need to relay that, because this time Derek’s eyes focus in on Stiles, keeping him locked in their gaze. The desperation in them makes Stiles fight back harder against the tug trying to wrench him away, but it’s a battle he’s destined to lose and the last thing he sees before the world becomes black again is Derek’s mouth forming his name.

 

~*~

 

When Stiles opens his eyes for the third and probably last time after his death, he already knows what he’s going to see: the throne room, bare and burnt, and his corpse forgotten on the dais. At least one of those is true - he does wake up in the throne room again. But now it has been scrubbed clean until the only evidence of the fire raging in it is in how empty it is. And when Stiles darts an automatic, compulsive look towards the dais and his body, he finds that it has been uncovered and finally properly laid out. This also confirms that Stiles’ suspicions were right and that Kate’s glamour has stuck to his body even in death - because it is Kate’s face that stares lifelessly at the ceiling, not his own, as it should be. 

 

What’s most surprising, though, is that he is not alone. Derek is sitting not too far away from him, apparently talking to himself. But once Stiles stands up and gets closer - slightly disappointed that Derek shows no reaction, though he didn’t really expect it to be that easy - he realises that no, Derek isn’t talking to himself, Derek is talking to  _ Stiles _ .

 

“- wish I knew when you arrive. Lydia just said ‘night’ and I can already hear you ranting about how one person’s definition of ‘night’ might wildly differ from another’s. I just hope you haven’t had to listen to this three times already. If yes: here’s number four: I saw you yesterday and I felt you the day before and Lydia told me, too. I looked at the face claiming to be yours and suddenly, unhindered by grief and denial, I could see all the faults in it, most of all how it is just a copy and not truly you. Did you know that Scott refused to come see you, that is Kate? I did not understand it then, but now I wonder whether his eye and nose were clearer than mine. I just wish I’d never been deceived at all. Oh how I wish you were here instead of her, Stiles, instead of me!”

 

Here, Stiles can’t keep quiet anymore, even though he’s afraid of missing a single word of what Derek’s saying.

 

“Derek!” he chides firmly, and Derek’s head snaps up so quickly that Stiles worries for his health.

 

“Stiles?” he asks and he sounds so scared and hopeful and pained, all wrapped up in one word, that Stiles scarcely can breathe. His eyes still skitter over Stiles though, scanning the room as if expecting Stiles to rise out of the ground suddenly. So Stiles takes Derek’s hands and repeats: “Derek! Derek, look at me, please.” 

 

And slowly, Derek’s eyes focus in on Stiles, until at last he sees him and gasps, reaching out to cup Stiles’ face in his hands reverently.

 

“Stiles - it is you,” he whispers, eyes wide and wet with yet unshed tears. “When Lydia told me - I couldn’t, I didn’t  _ want _ to believe, because it meant I’d let you die and put another in your stead, but it is true. I am so sorry; I don’t know what -”

 

“Shhh,” Stiles interrupts him, “I heard you, you don’t need to explain anything. Kate’s glamour is strong, powerful, you couldn’t have known. And it’s not your fault, you hear me, this is all on Kate. You are not to blame, believe me in this. I don’t know why I’m still here, but perhaps it is to tell you this.”

 

Derek nods, but Stiles can tell that his agreement is at best half-heartedly. There’s not much time left to argue, though, because Stiles can feel that tug drawing him away again. This time, however, he can feel where it wants him to go, and when his eyes fall on his body, still wearing Kate’s face, he suddenly knows where he is supposed to go. 

 

Urgently, he turns towards Derek again and says: “Remember that fairy tale you told me? About the wolf and the spark? And how the Great Alpha blessed them? How did that work again? How did the spark return to life?”

 

Derek stares at him with wide eyes and recites: “But on the third night, the last night, wolf saw spark and recognised their intended.” He frowns and says: “But I am seeing you and nothing has happened, has it? What am I doing wrong?”

 

“First of all, stop blaming yourself for everything bad that happens, I’m sure Peter is to blame for that somehow and I’m going to trap him in mountain ash until he realises the error of his ways,” Stiles rants, before reminding himself of the severity of the situation at hand. “Secondly, you see me, but you haven’t recognised me yet, and anyways, this is just part of me!”

 

He stares at Derek expectantly and thankfully Derek seems to get what he’s been thinking because Derek jumps up and points at Stiles’ physical body. “Do you mean I need to -”

 

He trails off, but Stiles nods anyways. “I think you need to recognise me, beyond the glamour Kate put on me, and hopefully that will please the Great Alpha enough that we’ll be blessed!”

 

Taking a deep breath, Derek steels himself and then steps over to Stiles’ body, staring down at it in despair. “It just looks like her,” he mumbles. “I was so sure it was her. I was so relieved, happy even! I was happy you had died, Stiles!” he exclaims and Stiles wraps his ghostly arms around him, even if he’s not sure that Derek can even properly feel it.

 

“You didn’t know,” he insists. “Her glamour is strong, and it was meant to deceive you. But this is still me and you  _ have _ to recognise that.”

 

Derek swallows and kneels down next to the body first, studying it by sight alone to start with. “I cannot see you in her, Stiles, I can’t!” he frets. “You are nothing like her and I don’t know how to find you in her.”

 

Stiles tries not to let his own panic show and feverishly goes through everything he can think of that might help until he finally thinks of something: “Close your eyes!” he urges Derek. “Use your other senses: what does your nose tell you? Is that Kate or is that me?”

 

Derek obediently closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, wrinkling his nose in confusion: “It smells weird - I expected the stink of death, but it’s barely there, as if something has preserved the body. It mostly smells of magic, a thunderstorm in summer, sparks flying in a forge, but there’s no hint of Kate there, nothing. This isn’t her,” he ends confidently and Stiles says: “Now look again! Can you see me? Can you recognise you?”

 

The feeling of urgency is back and he just knows that this is their last chance, that the Great Alpha is waiting for Derek to recognise Stiles - not just to believe it is him, but to  _ know _ it, deep in his gut, in his brain, and in his soul. Derek seems to feel it, too, because he is half-shifted, eyes flashing blue as they roam over Stiles’ body hidden under Kate’s glamour, as if Derek hopes that his wolf eyes might see more than his human eyes. And just as Stiles is ready to give up, Derek gasps and leans over the body, intently focused on something that Stiles can’t see, until Derek moves back and pulls the head to rest on his lap. Blonde curls spill out over Derek’s knees and Stiles  _ knows _ this is his body, he knows it, but that doesn’t make the entire experience any less disconcerting. 

 

But when Derek pushes back the blonde hair, a triangle of moles is revealed along one ear and Derek tenderly touches each one, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I know those moles,” he says, triumphant. “I recognise those moles; I recognise  _ you _ , Stiles.”

 

A tear slips out of his eye and just as it hits the skin between the three moles, Stiles is jerked away and everything becomes dark once more.

 

~*~

 

The first difference Stiles notices when he comes to again is that he is no longer feeling weightless. In contrast, it feels as though a heavy weight is pressing him down, suffocating him. It surrounds him on all sides, touches every inch of him, and Stiles suddenly knows that he has to get it off. It is pressing him down, pulling him down, when he wants to go up, and it’s keeping him prisoner in his own body when he finally hopes to be free. 

 

So he fights, thrashes about, tries to pull it off like a blanket, tries to slip out of it, peels it off, but it sticks to him like honey, gooey and clinging, sliding to cover every part of him he manages to free, a sensation that gives him goosebumps. But Stiles can tell it is weakening, tired and drained by holding on for too long, extending too much power, more magic than is safe, because Stiles realises it now. It’s magic that’s holding him hostage, so he focuses in on himself, on his spark, and imagines igniting it and using it to burn away the magic fighting back against him.

 

And as the last shackles of magic fall from him, Stiles opens his eyes and  _ breathes _ .

 

~*~

 

When Stiles comes to, the first thing he sees is Derek’s face, tight with worry and despair, tears dripping unhindered from his eyes. But with Stiles’ first gasp of air, Derek’s tense features smooth out and relief fills his eyes instead. A quick glance down confirms that Stiles’ body is his own yet, Kate’s glamour broken, and he scrambles up, almost hitting Derek with his elbow in his hurry, so he can throws his arm around Derek and hold him close, feeling his warmth and how Derek’s shoulders shake with barely repressed sobs. Stiles presses his face into Derek’s neck to hide his own tears and just breathes him in, rejoicing in the knowledge that the Great Alpha has blessed them, has seen their love and given them another chance.

 

He’s sure Derek is doing the same, breathing in Stiles’ scent, listening to his heartbeat, feeling his warmth, covering him Derek’s scent, drawing him in so tightly that no one can tell where one ends and the other begins. But eventually the urge is too strong to reassure himself and Derek that he’s alive again in another way, too, and Stiles cups Derek’s face in his hands and presses a kiss to his lips that is salty and wet with tears, tinged with desperation still, but oh so tender and loving.

 

When they finally break apart, Derek throws his head back and lets out a triumphant howl that echoes in the empty throne room and down the halls of the castle. Stiles laughs and then throws his head back to yell along with him. His shout is not as majestic as Derek’s howl, but it’s his voice joining that of his wolf again and that is enough.

 

Not long after, there’s a commotion outside the throne room, people running through the corridor, and while Stiles expects one of the wolves to come through the double doors first, he is not prepared for the one who does.

 

“Scott!” he shouts and jumps up, running towards him until they meet in a hug in the middle of the throne room. Because Scott is no longer a wolf, he’s human again, with curls wider than ever before and a crooked grin that Stiles hasn’t seen in far too long. “What happened? How did you shift back? Are you okay?”

 

Scott shrugs and says: “I just shifted back when Kate died -” 

 

“Wait, when Kate died?” Stiles interrupts because that is news to him, important news. 

 

“Yes, she died shortly before Derek howled,” Scott explains and Stiles remembers the magic that fought him when he came back to life and how he ripped it apart with his own spark, and he wonders whether he was the one to kill Kate, though unknowingly. But then he remembers that Kate cursed Scott, planned to kill all of the Hales, and actually killed him, and he resolutely pushes any pangs of what might be remorse down. 

 

“I’m great; did you know I’m a werewolf now,” Scott continues enthusiastically and flashes his golden eyes at Stiles repeatedly. “I can’t do the full shift anymore, but Talia says I might get there again if I practice and even if I don’t, I don’t care, because I can marry Allison now! I couldn’t do that as a wolf, could I?”

 

“Not easily, no,” Stiles laughs and winks at where Allison has appeared as well, her hands clasped in front of her mouth and eyes overflowing with tears, though they are happy tears, Stiles assumes.

 

“But what about you?” Scott asks worriedly, sobering again. “You were the one who actually died! Are you okay?”

 

Stiles looks at his friends and family which have gathered in the throne room, all of the Hales, Laura looking ready to tackle him if he doesn’t hug her soon out of his own free will, Allison, Lydia, the betas, all of them gazing upon him with love. He looks at Scott, the brother that has always been and always will be by his side, but who can finally walk his own path again.

 

And finally he looks at Derek, who has moved closer, but is hovering a bit behind Stiles, as if unsure of his welcome. So Stiles holds out a hand to him and lets himself be drawn into an embrace by his intended, whom he fully plans to make his husband very soon, though hopefully this time with a little less drama, destruction, and death.

 

“I’m awesome, Scott,” he replies with conviction, heartbeat calm and steady.

 

This spark is going to live happily ever after with his wolf. He’ll make sure of it. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear what you thought, so please leave a comment below or come talk to me on [tumblr](http://thedaughterofkings.tumblr.com)!


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